Title: Frankenstein's Monster
Fandom: Static Shock
Characters: Virgil/Riche
Prompt: # 30 (Death)
Word Count: 500
Rating: T Subtle, here. Subtle.
Author's Notes: Ficlet or drabble depending on your definition. Alva's POV. C'mon! Frankenstein is the –ultimate- in resurrection fics! Anyway, this is to satisfy all those who read my drabble entitled "Unaffected". This, too, was created for the Lj community known as fanfic100. Unedited and unbeta'd. And of course, I don't own Static Shock, or anything else that DC does.
Frankenstein's Monster
As the smoke cleared and the reality of the situation stepped forward into the false light of the laboratory, several scientists bolted from the room.
Alva merely took a step back, his arm raised as if to ward off a blow.
As if that, alone, could protect him.
As an upstanding citizen, Alva had gone to church, and he remembered his catechism clearly. Death rode on a pale horse, the fourth and last horseman before the final evil came, and was the only thing fair in life. Death was the only absolute…
Unless one became a god. And Death… Death was a god unto himself.
But the person who stood before Alva was the last person he would ever have thought to take up the title.
Static stood in the entryway, the doors blasted open in a magnetic whirlwind of power and electricity. The jacket he usually wore was noticeably missing, and there was scorch marks and blood on his bare arms. Purple lightning and incandescent sparks danced all over his body, but it was his eyes… His enraged, glowing eyes that revealed the superhero's rage.
Almost as an afterthought, the aging scientist and businessman noticed the rest of his captives following Static, practically cowering behind him. Even the usually brash Hotstreak held his flames in check and stood behind the enraged meta-human.
Between Alva and Static, there was a lot of ground, but most of it was taken up by the table holding his experiment. Static's eyes, those oh-so-white eyes, slid from Alva towards the table.
The table holding Gear.
The table holding a very still, very quiet, very…. Very. Dead. Gear.
Alva took a step back, closer to the far wall where monitors and computers were whirling away, trying to collect even more data. Every scrap of data was another equation that might, just might, answer the biggest equation of all.
How to fix a mistake.
"You killed him." Static said in a voice charged with power yet chaotically emotionless. It wasn't a question. It was merely a statement of fact.
"We didn't mean to." Alva replied, as if that was justification. As if that excuse would ever be enough. But, if it wasn't, the millionaire wanted insurance.
"He's… dead." Static said again, stepping deeper into the room. "You killed him."
"It was an experiment." Alva repeated. "A failed experiment. But the next time… next time it won't fail."
Static was hearing none of it, though.
It's been noted that one lightning bolt holds enough energy to power a 100-watt light bulb for 2 months. Static…
The dark-skinned meta-human raised both hands, and then swept them downward, unleashing power that would make nuclear bombs envious. It danced along the floor, up the walls, and arched across the ceiling. Circuits blew, light bulbs shattered, and even the corpse of the hero once known as Gear arched and writhed on the table.
Death was the only fairness in life.
Unless one had the power of a god in their hands.